


Vial of Dragonfire

by Mertiya



Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Belonging, Friendship, Gen, Sarkhan's spark igniting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 21:58:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3994414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/Mertiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once Sarkhan Vol was just a lonely misfit among the Mardu, with one good friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vial of Dragonfire

            The rush of battle should have thrilled Vol to his core, but instead it just felt—noisy.  Swords clashed on swords, and shouts and screams filled the air.  He knew he was supposed to be elated, but he simply couldn’t seem to find the excitement.  Other warriors raced past, eager to join the fray, but to him it seemed so pointless.  Squabbling with the Temur over their territory again.  Surely they could settle their differences somehow?

            With a sigh, Vol hefted his sword.  He had been into battle only a few times before, and he still felt nervous and out-of-place.  Squaring his shoulders, he promised himself he would do better this time. Already, many warriors his age were gaining their war-names, battle after battle.  He needed to do the same.

            Cautiously, he spurred his mount forward toward one of the less-formidable looking opponents, a stooped figure wrapped in furs and difficult to make out. Vol raised his weapon to strike, and the ainok warrior threw back his wrap and stood up with a roar. Vol’s horse shrieked out a fearful whinny and reared up, and suddenly he was falling.  He landed with a sudden thud and gasped for breath as the huge ainok towered over him, hefting a log he seemed to be using as a cudgel. The bewildered Mardu warrior squirmed away backward, trying to find courage and finding only sudden, mindblanking terror.

            “Vol!” squeaked a tiny, shrill voice, and suddenly Yasimin was there. The tiny goblin wore only a few strips of battered armor, and her orange fur was already matted with blood and gore.  She bared her sharp teeth at the huge ainok in a snarl and dove at him.

            The Temur warrior began to laugh as the little goblin launched herself at him, but in another moment, he was howling in pain as her blade lodged in his ankle.  He reached out to pluck her off, but she was gone, rolling around to his back in a tiny ball of concentrated fury.  Another roar, which set Vol’s teeth on edge with terror, did nothing to deter Yasimin’s anger.  She retaliated with another slash, and this time, the Temur warrior staggered and fell to his knees. Vol retained just enough presence of mind to scoot backward to avoid the creature collapsing on top of him, and when he looked up again, the tide of battle had swallowed them both up, Yasimin and the enemy he had so utterly failed to defeat or even engage.

~

            The sun was setting as Vol slipped away from camp, his eyes stinging, his throat painful.  He was happy for Yasimin—Yasimin Ankle-shanker, as she was now.  But he was angry at himself.

            A cold wind caressed his face and tickled the back of his neck, and he shut his eyes and drank in the sensation.  He never felt more centered than when he slipped away from the raucous noise of the horde and cloistered himself in some wild, secluded spot. Vol was too tired from today’s exertions to go much farther than a few minutes’ walk past the last pitched tents, but crossing over a high dune was enough to let him at least pretend that he was out in the wilderness with nothing nearby. He flung himself down on the sand, still warm from the day’s heat, and gazed up at the darkening sky.

            The sun sank beneath the horizon, and, above him, stars began to appear as they did every evening, following the natural patterns of their kind. Why was he so different? So unable to follow the patterns of his own people that he had nearly gotten himself killed today? He sighed.  No one would have mourned him if the ainok had ripped his heart out.  No one would have missed him, and he would have left no empty hole in anyone’s heart.

            Light footsteps on the sand startled him out of his reverie, and he looked up to see a small figure backlit by the dim starlight.  “I think I find you here,” said Yasimin, plopping down beside his head.  “You not like fun much, Vol.”

            “Don’t call me that,” he snapped.  “It’s not a real name.”

            She punched his shoulder.  “Stupid,” she said.  “Name means you. You real person. So name real.”

            He rolled over, rubbing his stinging shoulder frustratedly. “I am not a real person until I have a warname, and you know it.”

            “Yes, you are,” she said patiently, rolling across the sand and crashing heavily into his side.  “You my friend. Best friend, stupid.”

            “Oof,” said Vol.  “Being a friend isn’t a warname,” he protested.  “Being me isn’t—ouch, Yasimin, what are you doing?”

            She had flipped up his loose shirt and buried her head in his side, blowing a loud raspberry.  “Fun?” she said innocently, sticking her tongue out at him.  “Don’t take self so seriously, Vol.”

            He sighed.  “But I need to be a—a real Mardu warrior!  I need to _belong_!”  She bit him.  “Ow!”

            “You need be patient,” Yasimin said.  “Stop self-pity.  You find warname.  Just not today.”

            “Ugh,” Vol pushed his head back into the sand, feeling the grains grind into his hair.  “No, I won’t. I will never be brave like you.”

            Yasimin poked him in the side.  “Not brave.  Angry. Stupid dog trying kill best friend. Now best friend also being stupid. Need ankles shanked?”

            “Yasimin…”

            She turned over and wriggled down to his feet.  “No help.  Shank ankles.  Just for you.”

            “What are you—”  He gasped and yelped as her small fingers started playing over his feet and ankles. “Hey!”  Laughter bubbled up out of his lungs as she continued to tickle him.  He tried to squirm away, but she kept tight hold of his ankles, and in another moment, the two of them were wrestling on the sand, Yasimin’s hands on his wrists, her body across his as they struggled.  Vol ended up with his face smashed into her armpit, as she continued to tickle him. “I give up,” he panted finally, and Yasimin rolled away to the side again.

            “Feel better?” she asked, poking him in the side.

            “I suppose I do,” he said.  Her warmth at his side reminded him that even if he didn’t feel as if he belonged to the Mardu, with her, he had a place.  Above them, the stars slowly continued to revolve.

~

            Mad rush of battle, but it seemed muted now.  Strange ringing in Vol’s ears.  Fire.  He kept thinking of fire.  There was smoke nearby, but no flames.  They must have set alight the Abzan settlement.  Vol shook his head.  Focus. He needed to focus. Needed to lead his men properly into battle.  Get his warname.

            Sunlight shone from the bright scales of an approaching Abzan warrior, blinding him.  He tried to swerve to avoid a strike, but could not.  Pain surged through his arm as he warded off the blow.  There was a horrible crunching noise, and Vol was falling, thrown backwards from his horse.  He saw the flames again, and this time, something inside him answered them.

            “Vol!” Yasimin’s squeak came as it always did when he was in danger, but he barely heard her.  Roaring flames had taken control of his body, and he felt it shift and change, arms beating against the air, surging upwards in desperation toward some goal he could not name.  Fire. The fire from inside spewing out. Head turning down toward the confused mob of warriors beneath him. 

            Flames.

            His last sight was of Yasimin’s face, turned upwards, wreathed in greedy fire, before the Blind Eternities took him.


End file.
